An Untitled Poem About Summer

The following is a poem I finished quite some years ago, although it underwent a touch up recently. I cannot think of a catching name for it, but it is an attempt to collect the weird feelings I have towards the season of summer.

The long night sighs, bleeds into soft, lazuli sky

The flame burning longer both inside and out.

I drink it, like ambrosia.

I see the sun-kissed horizon set clouds ablaze.

I see a timorous half moon in the pool of your eye

And the nothing above open up into waking obsidian.

Reaching frames now don their prideful green

And petrichor gives way to saccharine pollen.

The world blossoms afresh, and heralds towards the new sun rising.

Grief lingers in the oils,

A bitter imperfection suspended within.

The candle quivers. The brushstrokes fade.

Beginnings defined by their end.

Colour emboldened by its own ghost.

This new land is not of me, and I not of it

Dreaming eyes bound by eventuality.

But discontent is but a portion of the painting

For the pool of warmth, in its fleeting farewell

Still kisses my cheek, caresses my arm

And whispers of what to come.